


the drunk girl stumble

by isawet



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawet/pseuds/isawet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For SiriCerasi :))</p><p>Short scene at the bar. Bo is convinced it's just a break, Tamsin just wants to drink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the drunk girl stumble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SiriCerasi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiriCerasi/gifts).



"Hey," Bo says, swinging into one of the bar stools. She clicks the tips of her boots against the front of the bar and sighs, slumping her chin onto her hands. "Beer me."

Kenzi drums her fingers on the crown of Bo's head, then smoothes the hairs down and neatens the part in her hair. She tugs playfully at the little braid keeping the hair out of Bo's face. "Cheer up buttercup."

"Just a break," Bo repeats, half muffled. 

"You've said that so many times it's got to have stopped sounding like real words," Kenzi says, hopping up to sit on the bar.

Bo ignores her. "Trick is gonna kill you."

Kenzi sips from a strangely shaped bottle. "I'm helping. Trick should _thank_ me."

"Move," Trick says, appearing at Kenzi's elbow. She jumps, starting, and he snatches the bottle from her relaxed grip. "You're not helping," he grumbles, and sighs at Bo. "Hey. You taking a break?"

"Exactly," Bo says, sitting up straight and pointing at him. "It's just a break. Singular, temporary."

"I'm lost," Trick says. Kenzi pats him on the shoulder.

"You're a grandfather, Trick, you're supposed to be lost." She spins her legs around and slides until she's lounging like Mrs. Robinson. Trick looks longsuffering. "Speaking of lost, what the hell is up with her?"

Bo turns to follow her gaze down the bar, to a corner stool where Tamsin appears to be looking for Jesus at the bottom of the latest in a long line of shot glasses. "Dyson said she came in to work drunk too. Tamsin?" She calls tentatively. Tamsin tosses back another shot and waves with her free hand.

Kenzi snorts. "More like Tam _sauced_."

"Okay," Bo says, "Dyson and I took a break, right? That didn't change anything."

Kenzi stares at her. "Dyson lied to you about your mother and then sold his ability for love to save your life and you haven't been together since."

"Yes," Bo says, "fine, but if that hadn't happened the break would have been temporary."

Trick reappears in front of them. "Bo could you lend... a hand?"

Bo leans back on her stool to get a better look. Some kind of swaggering frat boy fae is trying to pick Tamsin up, crowding too close into her space and reaching for her glass with a cocky smirk. She throws him over her shoulder with one hand and catches the glass before it falls. Doesn't spill a drop. "She looks like she's doing fine."

Tamsin stands. Trick presses a finger to the space between his eyebrows and takes deep breaths. "Lend a hand to _him_."

Kenzi pats Bo on the back. "She is cute drunk, though, isn't she?"

"Okay," Bo says, standing, "but--"

"Yes," Tamsin snaps from where she has the guy by the collar. "It's just a fucking break we get it already." Bo crosses the space in five steps and catches Tamsin's fist as she draws it back.

"Leave him."

Tamsin heaves a great put upon sigh. "You got liquor at your place?"

She stumbles, a little, and Bo catches her, confused. She hadn't thought Tamsin had been that drunk. She links an arm around Tamsin's waist and keeps her on her feet. "Yeah," she says, as Kenzi rushes over to catch Tamsin's other arm. "We've got liquor at our place."

**Author's Note:**

> CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE RIDICULOUS EVIL LAUGHTER AFTER DYSON KILLED THE WHATEVERFAE IN THE DOME THING WTF WAS THAT BAHAHAHAHA
> 
>  
> 
> now you write me fic i demand it :c


End file.
